


Mozzarella's Adoribull Fictober

by Mozzarella



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Archon Dorian Pavus, Established Relationship, Friendship, Hissrad, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-09 04:22:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20847452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mozzarella/pseuds/Mozzarella
Summary: Short Adoribull fics for October!Chapter 1: Krem and Dorian become friends while Bull is away, and also there are flying plush nugs.Chapter 2: Love isn't real -Dorian, realising love is totally realChapter 3: Dorian as Archon and Bull as spy, who was caught when trying to break into the palace to steal war plans





	1. The one with the flying nugs

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to send me prompts over at muchymozzarella on tumblr or mothermuchy on twitter! Rating and warnings may change with each prompt.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From amphithere-ascended on Tumblr:
> 
> Bull has been called away on a mission with the Inquisitor, and Dorian makes an attempt to bond with the Chargers in the meantime. Surprisingly, he and Krem get along fantastically. Maybe a little too well... When Bull gets back to Skyhold, he nearly gets run over by a small group of children chasing after a nug plush, its tiny wings giving off small sparkles of residual magic with each flap. (Not sure if this still counts as an Adoribull prompt, but I think it would be an interesting idea!)
> 
> Rating: G
> 
> No warnings apply
> 
> Established relationship + friendship 

The way things changed in the South was something Bull felt detached from when he first came, observing it like a passing wave, noting it down, folding into the persona he had built for himself without ever really internalising it. That change, violent and abrupt like a tidal wave, belonged to the bas, and the Qun had no real need for it but for its use. 

Now, Bull was in the water, and the waves crashed over him, and he found that going with it was better than pretending he was immovable and drowning. Probably how so many Vashoth survived for so long, learning to move with the world instead of fighting it. 

That was what he thought about when he left Skyhold one morning on a mission with the Inquisitor and came back three weeks later to find children running around his legs, chasing a _magicked flying stuffed toy nug _flapping its soft little nug wings that made a circuit around Bull’s horns, leaving trails of sparkles in its wake, and Krem and Dorian - who, if you’d asked Bull, wouldn’t have had any reason to stand so close together if they weren’t literally at each other’s throats - holding each other up and giggling like children in the background. 

Bull plucked the nug out of the air smoothly, and it tilted its little stuffed head at him, flapping its wings in what looked like confusion, before Bull let it go and it was off again, taking its cadre of happy children along with it. 

He then walked over to where his two Vints were still a bit giggly, though when he stood in front of them and crossed his arms and raised a judgemental eyebrow, Dorian only gave him a raised brow of his own and Krem shrugged as if he had done absolutely nothing to deserve the look. 

“You two getting along?” Bull said at length. 

“Not at all, chief,” Krem said in a tone that conveyed the exact opposite, with Krem’s arm looped into Dorian’s like they had never been anything but bosom buddies. 

“Why, so incensed are we by each other that I’ve gone and cursed one of his precious stuffed nugs,” Dorian said airily. “The usual altus-soporatus hostility. You know how it is.”

“Uh-huh,” Bull said, not letting the smile he could feel coming up from deep in his chest show on his face. 

“Well, now that you’re back from what I’m sure was an enjoyable, relaxing romp across the safe and uneventful roads of Thedas, why don’t we treat you to a drink?” Dorian continued, and Krem elbowed him in the side. 

“You’re paying.”

“As always,” Dorian sighed dramatically. Bull chuckled, smacking Krem in the back with a strength that would’ve toppled a lesser man - but Krem was hardly that, and Bull felt a surge of pride at the thought. He then lay a hand on the back of Dorian’s neck as his two favourite men disengaged, and Dorian sighed into the touch. 

He would get the story out of them sooner or later, but for now, Bull got to enjoy the warm, friendly atmosphere of the evening. 


	2. Passion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Phoenix Azrael on facebook: 
> 
> Person A: Love is dead. It never existed. Anyone that thinks otherwise is a fool.  
Person B: *smiles*  
Person A: Hold up a second-  
(A) being Dorian and (B) obviously Bull c:
> 
> \- 
> 
> In which love totally isn't real until it is
> 
> Brief mention of past Dorian/Inquisitor

Passion was common among Tevinters, especially among the young, and Dorian had been burned so many times that it was almost amusing to think about how forbidden such relations had been. 

Perhaps it had been the forbidden nature that made it feel so much more passionate, in hindsight. When Dorian thought back on the men he’d spent time with under the cover of night, he found them lacking in every way - shallow, self-centred, pampered men whose only real draws were looks and power, some of them possessed of a charm that Dorian didn’t feel quite so stupid for falling for. 

After so many disappointments, however, Dorian had concluded that it was his lot to either fall victim to the lie that was love, or accept that it had never truly existed, and was just a pretty illusion to satisfy him and his foolish romanticisms. 

Coming to the South taught him that loyalty could certainly be real, and he couldn’t discount loyalty among sexual partners once he started getting into bed with his dear Inquisitor, before the man eventually fell in love with their utterly graceless and truly, inspiringly noble Seeker and proved Dorian’s views on love right once again. 

He couldn’t feel too bad about himself, though. It was nice while it lasted. And for all that their “love” affair had failed, Maxwell proved a dear, true friend. 

It wasn’t, however, until The Iron Bull showed up at his nook in the library one day, tossing him his birthright like it had been no great feat to return it, however, that Dorian began to doubt. 

He had been angry. It had been his responsibility, and the brute had had no right to go behind his back in such a way. He’d spat, he’d been ungrateful, but Bull had looked at him with such horrible kindness and said “Sorry. I didn’t know. I knew you wanted it back, and I decided to make choices for you. I won’t do it again.”

And Dorian had no idea how to respond to that. After a stiff apology down in the tavern for all present to hear, and an offer to buy Bull a drink, they became something like friends. Friends who eventually fell into bed together after Dorian wanted to spite himself for sighing over Maxwell for a sixth time. 

Somewhere down the line, Dorian got used to this new, strange thing Bull introduced him to - a basic decency he hadn’t had in lovers until Maxwell; a sweetness exemplified by an excess of cuddling that Dorian would hate more had the South not been so freezing; and even an attentiveness that he had never had from anyone. Bull would wipe away an ink stain from Dorian’s cheek, making Dorian splutter indignant but secretly enjoy the consideration. 

After months of this, of Bull bringing him breakfast in bed after a tiring night, wiping him down after a messy bout of sex or bathing him by hand after a long mission, and Dorian, not to be outdone, procuring and rubbing horn balm over the dry parts of Bull’s head and helping him manage his old knee injury, Dorian had brought it up. 

“We’ve become rather domestic, haven’t we? I couldn’t tell you why, though. Isn’t it odd?”

Bull had chuckled, elbowing Dorian gently in the side. 

“It’s because I love you, Vint,” he’d said, and Dorian had frozen, unable to make sense of Bull’s words in context to their relationship. 

It was a moment’s hesitation that Bull saw clear enough, and Dorian felt panic rise as he lowered his elbow, smile still in place but stuck just a little too long to be genuine. 

It was a second more that Dorian had his realisation, that not having had the opportunity to experience it before didn’t mean something didn’t exist, and the lack of observation for some did not negate the experience for others. 

Love. He was so adamant it wasn’t real that Dorian had been blind to all clear, obvious signs pointing to it.

“I’m sorry,” Dorian said first, giving Bull pause. “I’m having a personal crisis at the moment, and I’m afraid I’ve been remiss in saying so, but…”

He breathed, and it felt like letting go, and his smile was all the brighter when he said, “I love you too, you big lummox.”

Bull smiled. And if Dorian had not already known it to be true, that smile would have been all the proof he needed. 


	3. The Archon and his Bull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hissrad infiltrates the Imperial Palace to steal war plans and meets the Archon himself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From vixiak on tumblr, an idea I NEEDED IN MY LIFE 
> 
> Dorian as Archon and Bull as spy, who was caught when trying to break into the palace to steal war plans 

“I don’t suppose the Qunari are aware of ways to warn me of break-ins in my own home, but given that you’re all fully aware that we of Tevinter use magic for every little thing, I’m surprised you weren’t prepared for the eventuality.”

Hissrad smirked even as he clenched against the paralysis spell, feeling its hold loosening on him already, though he willed himself not to move and give the game away. 

“Our Tamassrans always did encourage us to learn something new every day. At least, mine did,” Hissrad said flippantly as the man made his unconcerned way from behind Hissrad (his Antaam instincts screaming at him to face the threat of a powerful Bas-Saarebas head on, tamped down by his more nuanced thought as Ben-Hassrath) to speak to him face to face, and Hissrad couldn’t hide the surprise at seeing the Archon himself - dressed down, alone, and so small that Hissrad would’ve mistaken him for any other Magister, had it not been for his singular, elegantly curled moustache.

Had Hissrad not known that the Archon was, objectively, one of the most beautiful Vints he’d ever seen in his time in the city, and though the secret places inside him purred like a cat in sunlight at the thought, the Hissrad he was marked it as another example of how Tevinter chose their leaders - bred to perfection for the purpose, almost Qunari in that way, if not for the corrupting influence of their magic and depravity. 

“My, but you are an ugly, scowling fellow,” Archon Dorian tsked, and Hissrad, who had his expression schooled to the usual stoniness, raised a brow and threw him a smirk, which seemed to startle the man. 

“I’d wager your standards for what’s beautiful are higher than anyone’s considering they’ve got a lot to live up to in front of someone so gorgeous,” said Hissrad, and he didn’t miss the flush that seemed to inspire in the man’s cheeks, even in the low light of evening. 

“A flattering Qunari. How quaint,” the Archon said breathlessly. “And here I thought you were all only capable of grunting or yelling for death or the Qun or whatnot.”

“I don’t know if it’s stupidity or humility that you Vints think you’ve been fighting animals this whole time and losing,” said Hissrad. 

“Oh, half the Magisterium certainly thinks so, and you’d be surprised how much of a chore it is to get them to understand the intelligence of our enemy,” said Archon Dorian, laughing lightly. “But I don’t know that the ones who don’t underestimate you all are much better,” he went on, humour draining from his voice. “Given what lengths they’re willing to go to to quell the tide of Qunari rule.”

Hissrad thought of the time he spent on Seheron, how relieved he was to be pulled before he could become the monsters his fellows had, and shuddered. 

He then realised that the paralysis spell had dropped completely, and the Archon turned his back to him, walking on. 

“Well, come on then,” the man said, and Hissrad balked. “I know you’re not here to kill me, otherwise you’d have been on your way to my quarters rather than down this hallway - unless your intelligence really is that flawed and you had no idea where your target even was. I’d guess you had a different goal in mind. What was it? Architectural plans of the palace? Magical weapons for your Saarebas to use? The dragonling we keep in the garden?”

Hissrad perked up at the mention of a baby dragon. “Wait, you have an Ataashi in here?”

The Archon sighed heavily. “Of course you love them. The damage to the palace isn’t worth the trouble, but it keeps spirits high and makes my enemies more inclined to believe in my power if I can keep one in line.”

Hissrad weighed his options in his head, and decided to change tact. 

“I was looking for plans for your next attack on Seheron, actually,” he said lightly, as though it meant nothing to give the information away. 

Dorian’s shoulders immediately dropped, and his expression turned not angry, like Hissrad expected, but... sad. Troubled.

“There are none,” said Dorian. “At least,” he added, before Hissrad could speak, “not here. I have no intention of sending another wave of soporati and laetans and glory-seeking alti to be slaughtered on that Maker-forsaken island.”

“Bullshit,” Hissrad said, startling them both. 

“I have approved nothing,” Dorian continued, sounding infinitely more tired than his thirty years, “but from what I understand, certain elements of the Magisterium have been going behind my back to approve and fund the endeavour. I know that many have decided that I am unfit to be Archon because I am neither warmonger nor full of delusions of grandeur about a war we have never won and never will, against a people we have only ever held back and never stopped, and so you understand the use of the magical wards I had placed - to stop the dozens of assassins that come to kill me every week. But to be fair, that’s only a few more than usual.”

“Your own people would try to tear you down even when you make a tough and reasonable decision for their safety?” Hissrad said with disgust.

Dorian smiled at him, oddly warm, as they ended up in a library with a lounge, with couches that looked decadently soft. He lay across one, allowing Hissrad the full view of the long lines of his body, before the spy sat by his feet on one side, still space to spare on the enormous chaise. 

“I’m surprised you believe me, considering I’m supposed to represent a people you believe to be morally corrupt and irredeemable,” Dorian said softly, pouring two glasses of wine from the crystalline side table filigreed with gold. 

“You seem like a good guy,” Hissrad said, shrugging as he took the offered glass and sniffing it before taking a sip. He had taken the antidotes to most known poisons and tonics for most spells before he entered the palace, so if this killed him, it deserved the victory. “And I’m a people person.”

Dorian looked pensive. “I’ve.... never met a Qunari like you,” he said, weighing his words carefully. “May I ask your name?”

“Hissrad,” was the answer. “My name and my title. It means-”

“Keeper of illusions,” Dorian said, chuckling. “If you’re so good at lying that I’ve decided to share a drink with you before you kill me, I’d just be happy it took some of your best to finally take me down. But there must be dozens of Hissrad, if not hundreds.”

Hissrad shrugged. “Sure. Why?”

“I suppose I don’t want to think of you as someone who simply shares your title. I think... I think of a Bull, perhaps. Though your horns are more like a high dragon’s.”

Hissrad grinned widely, giving the Archon a wink. “Dragon sounds great, actually.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Bull it is, then.” He sat up, swirling the wine in his glass and looking deep in thought. “If I told you which Magisters I’ve heard funded the next planned assault right under me from an ally, would you trust the information?”

“I’d have people look into its validity, first,” said Hissrad, the Bull to the Archon.

“Fair. And what would you do if you found out they had such information that you came here for in the first place?” asked Dorian. 

“The Ben-Hassrath collect as much information as they can before making a decision,” said Hissrad, “but depending on how completely depraved they are compared to how useful they are - you might just be one less an enemy.”

“But what if this is just a ruse I’ve created for you to take out my political rivals?” Dorian said lightly. 

“The motivation doesn’t really matter when the outcome is ideal,” said Hissrad. “But if you make trouble, we could always just come up here and kill you, given you apparently live without guards or additional non-magical security.”

“The magical security is enough,” said Dorian flippantly, and Hissrad moved so quickly that he barely had time to react - the wine glass had rolled onto the carpet, staining it red, and Hissrad held the Archon by the throat while the hand that held the wineglass now held fire, ready to be thrown. 

“You can’t always rely on magic alone,” said Hissrad softly, thumb caressing the side of Dorian’s neck and making him shiver, the red of his face not just from the hold on his throat. “Especially against a people who have trained to fight it specifically.”

He let go, leaving no mark on the man’s neck, and handed him his wine, which Dorian took with a huff while looking judgmentally down at the stain on the no doubt expensive carpet. He downed the rest of the wine in one go, running a hand through his hair. 

“I’ll give you the list,” he said, breathless, going over to the nearby table. 

Hissrad followed, standing behind him as he began scribbling names and other important information that he knew from his own contacts. Before he handed it over, however, the Archon looked him up and down, seemed to mull something over for a moment, before saying “Do you fuck?”

Hissrad wasn’t sure where that strange turn came from, but he said “I’m no Tamassran, but I do alright.”

“Oh, maker, never mind, I don’t know why I asked - but I suppose...”

Before Hissrad could say anything else, he felt soft lips against his, a hand on his neck urging him low, and he opened up to it, and he allowed himself to be led through a contact that made electricity spark throughout his entire body and a fire burn in his gut that felt like someone had cast so many spells inside him. 

“Apologies,” said Dorian softly when he pulled away. “When I was younger, I was a terrible romantic. And having a strapping, clever spy come into my home and not killing me seemed like the kind of romantic my younger self would have berated me for not taking advantage of. Not that romance could possibly be a Qunari concept.”

“Nope,” said Hissrad, licking his lips, “but if you want to teach me a little more, it’s good to learn something new.”

He gave a wink, and Dorian threw his head back in real laughter. 

He was beautiful, and Hissrad looked forward to the next time he could see the soft look on Dorian’s face when they were both safe from who they were in the daylight.

“Here,” Dorian said softly, handing him a ring - one of the many from his fingers that Hissrad briefly wondered why he didn’t take them off to sleep, until he saw it pulse briefly with minor magic. “You can move into the palace without traps setting off this way. I’ll still know, but... at least you won’t be charred to a crisp by the time I come over to greet you.”

“Careful, Dorian,” said Hissrad softly. “I might start thinking you like me.”

Dorian looked sad, and Hissrad - his Bull - understood, and they kissed once more before he fled, to give the information he had gleaned to his superiors, but against everything he had ever been taught, hiding the ring he had been given for his own. 


End file.
